


Lesbos

by Basingstoke



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Community: cabinpres_fic, F/M, Family Drama, Trans Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Martin really had been Martha?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lesbos

There was a patch on Martin's arm. "I wasn't aware that you smoke. Far less that you're stopping," Douglas said.

 

"I don't smoke. I can't afford to smoke," Martin said. "Why would you think that? Do I smell like smoke?" He ducked his nose into his collar.

 

"The patch. On your arm."

 

"Oh. No. That's something else."

 

Douglas stared at Martin silently, waiting.

 

Martin glanced at him. "It's none of your business!"

 

"But clearly interesting, or you would just tell me."

 

"It's none of your business!"

 

"Goodness." Douglas looked at the clouds, considering. He decided to return to their game of "Worst Rhyme." "Bizarre caviar."

 

Martin sighed and calmed himself. "Kafka afghan."

 

"Any plans for Greece?"

 

"I'm going to try reading Bleak House again, but I brought the latest Sookie Stackhouse as well in case it doesn't take."

 

"Yes, I thought it might be something like that," Douglas said.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 

"I've known you for two years and never once have you had a date."

 

"I have, actually. I've had one."

 

"Really? Do I know her? Or him?"

 

"I'm not gay. Which, I wish I were, because the only times I've ever been hit on, it was by men. But I fancy women, they just don't fancy me. You didn't know her. Just a girl--a woman--from the neighbourhood. Two dates, we had the talk, and she scarpered."

 

"The talk?"

 

Martin looked at him, looked away swiftly, and cleared his throat. "You know, the what do you want from life, hopes and fears, all that kind of thing conversation."

 

"I see your problem, if you have that talk after two dates. At least have sex first."    

 

"You don't understand," Martin muttered.

 

"Don't tell me you're Catholic."

 

"I'm not religious, I'm not a virgin, I'm not averse to sex in any way, it's just extraordinarily difficult for me to have it, all right? It's part of what I am and there's very little I can do about it, all right?" Martin gritted his teeth and started at the altimeters, each of them in turn.

 

Douglas was genuinely dumbstruck. It appeared Martin had given him a set-down. Who knew the lad had it in him? "I see," he said.

 

"So drop it."

 

"I will."

 

"Because it's none of your business," Martin said, hunching his shoulders.

 

"No, certainly, I have no interest in your genitals."

 

Martin jumped. "How did you know?"

 

Douglas raised his eyebrows.

 

"How could you possibly know? Can you sniff it out? Is it my trousers? Can you spot a bloody testosterone patch on sight? I pass! I've passed for years! Honestly I passed before the surgery, that's what made the whole thing not so hard. I should have known something would muck it up after all."

 

They were both silent as Douglas worked it out. Martin stared out the window, huffing breath through his nose. Testosterone patch; genitals; trousers; passing; surgery.

 

"You used to be a woman?" Douglas ventured.

 

Martin was rubbing his forehead. "Yes, you didn't actually know that before I blurted it out, did you? That was me jumping to conclusions."

 

"No, no idea."

 

"God."

 

Silence again.

 

"Transgender rear-ender," Martin muttered.

 

"That's terrible," Douglas said.

 

"Carolyn has us bunking together again in Greece. I won't be offended if you want to room with Arthur instead."

 

"Martin," he said, conveying his horror that Martin would think him so phobic as to stoop to measures that extreme.

 

"It's extraordinarily hard to find a woman willing to put up with no money, erratic hours, AND no penis, and that's why I don't date much and I date successfully even less. But I am straight, so I don't have any, well."

 

"No designs on my body?"

 

"No."

 

"Straighter men than you have fallen," Douglas said, thinking of his co-pilot back in '97.

 

Martin laughed. "You know, I bet you would be fine with no cock. I bet you'd be running two wives and three girlfriends."

 

"Dare I enquire after your penis?"

 

"You wouldn't believe it. To make a penis out of a clitoris, they scoop your bits out, then cut out a chunk of your arm and graft that in place." Martin's hand gestures were alarming. "And there's only a fifty-fifty chance of ever having orgasm with it."

 

"No!"

 

Martin leaned toward him. "Yes! And I was--you know you go through puberty? So I was like a teenager, hormonal as hell, having sex as often as my girlfriend was up for it, which was pretty often, and they told me all that, and I said no."

 

"The only possible answer," Douglas said from the heart.

 

"I mean, other men choose differently."

 

"Wrongly."

 

"I can't judge them. For some men it's important to look like a man. But I couldn't face life without being able to get off."

 

"Life wouldn't be worth living," Douglas said.

 

*

 

Douglas detoured on the way to the hotel and obtained a bottle of ouzo and some takeaway. "Charming people, the Lesbians," he told Martin, "but remarkably short-tempered on the subject of gay women."

 

Martin smiled. "Thank you. Is the takeaway for me as well?"

 

Douglas peered inside his cartons. "I might be persuaded to share the kebab, but the dolmades are all mine." It was an ordinary conversation. Martin couldn't bear to spend enough money for good food, and Douglas couldn't bear to share the room with bad food. (Or Arthur. No matter how alarming Carolyn found the flow of cash, Arthur always got his own room, on threat of both her pilots walking.)

 

Martin poured a sizable glass of booze and visibly relaxed as he drank. Douglas passed him a kebab.

 

"I can't picture you as a woman," Douglas said.

 

"Neither can I. That was the entire problem."

 

"Oh. Well, yes."

 

"I mean, imagine you woke up tomorrow and you had a woman's body, and everyone said you should act more ladylike, and why can't you manage heels, and why don't you put on a dress, and wear some makeup for the love of god, and why did you cut your hair, and...you just want it to stop and go back to when you were a man. Except you never were a man. It was just something you imagined." Martin sagged in his seat, gesturing with his kebab. The ouzo was hitting him fast.

 

Douglas drank his water and watched Martin's colour rise. A drunken Martin was apple-cheeked and happy as a lark. Douglas often thought he belonged to an earlier time, one where a man could go about half-drunk all the lifelong day and other men only thought better of him for it--though, given this new revelation, he clearly required the modern age and it's surgical interventions.

 

"I was gangly, ginger, and ugly. And an East Ender. I had elocution lessons as part of the transition to make me less screechy and they made me all posh in the bargain. But at least I had small, um, chests. My mate John, you would not believe, you would not even BELIEVE the size of his bosom. You have to live as a man before you can have it all taken off, and he just could not pass until he got the idea of stuffing his gut. That did the trick! After he had the surgery, he took all the stuffing out. He looked like he'd had gastric bypass." Martin giggled into his glass.

 

"How did your family take it?"

 

Martin abruptly sobered.

 

"My apologies. Have a fig."

 

"No, actually, it--went well. Which I didn't for a minute think it would, and I'd moved out ages ago and we'd barely spoken, but I had to tell them, you can't just *change sex* without at least *telling* mum and dad." He rested his cheek on his hand. "So, well, I came by, first time in ages, and they asked me how I was, and I was working in a DIY shop and dating this very pretty girl--"

 

"Same one of the sexual orgies?"

 

"Yeah. She was smashing. But she was only in town to transition--male to female--and she went back to Wales after." He sighed. "Should have followed her. Her current boyfriend is six feet tall with biceps like rugby balls. She was always too good for me. I was just lucky. Well--I told them everything at once, the job, the girl, the transition, that I was a man and always had been, and mum just looked at my dad..." Martin looked at Douglas with his brows knotted. "My dad, he just sat there for a minute thinking. He did that. He made up his mind about things before he said anything."

 

A trait Martin would do well to emulate, Douglas thought but didn't say.

 

"It took forever. Just forever. Mum and I just sat there drinking tea and waiting for him to make up his mind. And then he looked at me, and it was like a light came on, and he said 'So all this time, you weren't a girl, you were a lad!' And he was so excited! Made me show him a picture of my girlfriend and tell him about my job and he was loving it. Said--" And Martin shook his head. "Well done, son." Martin sniffled a bit and took a drink. "Well done, son. Well done." He smiled into the air.

 

"That's remarkable," Douglas said.

 

"Never in my life did I think it would happen like that. Me! Martin the loser. But once my dad was excited, my mum was too, because I'd always been the one playing in Dad's shed. Simon has glasses as thick as a door and Katie was a proper girl. I was always messing around making aeroplanes with bits of metal. So my dad thought I would go into the business. Crieff and Son. I tried to tell him...I did. I really did. And they took me in after the surgery and made me soup while I was poorly and he was so bloody proud when I got my new papers and I was really his son and then I had to tell him we were never going to be Crieff and Son Electricians and I broke his bloody heart!" He broke off in a sob.

 

Oh dear. Douglas removed the ouzo from Martin's reach. He tried patting Martin's shoulder.

 

"He's dead, isn't he? He only wanted one thing and now he's dead," Martin sobbed. "I'm a selfish bastard!"

 

"Martin, you can't blame yourself."

 

Martin cried soundlessly into his folded arms. This looked...serious. Douglas ate some dolmades and considered.

 

Martin got hold of himself in a minute or so. He scrubbed his sleeves over his eyes. He was bright red, his eyes puffy. He couldn't meet Douglas's eyes.

 

Douglas offered him some feta. Martin took it. "You loved him," Douglas said.

 

Martin nodded.

 

"He knew."

 

Martin's face crumpled, but he recovered himself with a knuckle under his nose.

 

"You're an open book, Martin. He knew. Take it from a father."

 

*

 

Martin was a bit miserable when he woke up. He blinked from under his sheets.

 

Douglas was reading his Sookie Stackhouse. "That's mine," Martin muttered.

 

"Shouldn't take me more than a day, I'm already fifty pages in."

 

"You bought me ouzo last night," Martin said.

 

"Don't you remember?"

 

"I'm just working out what bits are dream and what bits are real. Did you turn into a werewolf?"

 

"Not that I recall," Douglas said.

 

"Then I told you that I'm trans."

 

"Yes, rather memorably."

 

Martin sighed.

 

"How does one pronounce 'Sookie' anyway?"

 

"Sookie," Martin said.

 

"Ah." Douglas turned the page. "Does she ever have an orgy with all her supernatural lovers?"

 

"Only in the fanfic," Martin said.

 

"Pity."

 

"I can show you the fanfic if you like."

 

Douglas considered. "I'm strangely intrigued. I'll finish the book first."

 

"Is there any aspirin?"

 

"By the bed."

 

*

 

On the flight back, Martin finally asked: "And you don't have any questions?"

 

"You told me about your penis, your girlfriend troubles, and your relationship with your father; frankly, I don't want to know anything more about you at the moment." Martin coloured. Douglas relented. "Martin. Number of seconds we could sing the Ode to Joy before Carolyn threatened to kill us with her shoe."

 

"Oh, can't be more than three," Martin said, a hint of a smile on his face.

 

"And a one and a two and a--"

 

"FREUDE, SCHOENER GOETTERFUNKEN, TOCHTER AUS ELYSIUM, WIR BETREUTEN FEUERTRUNKEN HIMMLISCHE--"

 

"DOUGLAS!"

 

Douglas stopped, but Martin continued singing, in his strong baritone, majestically.

 

 Until Arthur joined in and they had to stop because the clients were stampeding.

 

*

 

Douglas invited Martin out for dinner. He didn't tell him the surprise.

 

He met Martin at the door. "Martin. This is Anne."

 

Ex-girlfriend. He had hundreds. He was on good terms with... dozens, at least. Martin shook hands with her politely. "Well, good luck. I'm off," Douglas said.

 

"You're off?"

 

"Blind date, sweetie," Anne told him.

 

"What?"

 

"It's when two people who don't know each other are set up by a third person," she said, grinning. "Though I know a little. I know you're trans, and that's fine."

 

"What?" Martin was reddening rapidly.

 

"And dinner is on Douglas. He told me about the bet you lost." Anne laughed and took his arm. "He didn't say you were so cute."

 

God, Douglas was magnificent. All the women in all the world and he'd found the one that considered Martin attractive.

 

Martin took Anne's arm with an expression like a stunned fish. Douglas tossed his scarf over his shoulder dashingly and left them to it.

 

the end.

 

*

 

Epilogue:

 

George didn't have much to split among the children. Some money and the van. Gloria was gone already, bless her, and he'd sold the house to move in with Katie when his knees went.

 

But the van, he kept the van. Crieff and Son, Electricians. He had the sign already, had gone that far before Martin backed out. So bloody hard to let go of that dream.

 

He'd leave Martin the van. Remind him that his old man loved him and there was always a place for him. Remind him he was a good son. A bit rubbish as a daughter but a bloody good son.

 

He'd give the others some dosh, that didn't mean much. Martin was always his favourite.

 

*


End file.
